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[The mini-series “Mount Bliss” continues from “Alliterative Agony.”]

The next morning, Sunday, Lo was very slow to wake up. I, like clockwork, was up with the sunrise at around 5:30. Very gently and stealthily, I extricated myself from her naked embrace and found some clothes to slip into before sneaking out of the room in search of coffee. Lo is my drug of choice, but caffeine is my drug of necessity. Without it first thing in the morning, I develop a terrible headache, become susceptible to intrusive thoughts, and can be very unpleasant company.

In those newly minted minutes of the morning, the sun from yonder horizon streamed into the various windows of the “cottage,” designed perfectly to catch that brisk, new day aura. I was glad to have my alone time and, even better, I had discovered Collin’s very fancy, very expensive Italian espresso, cappuccino, and coffee brewing machine.

I made myself a steaming mug and went outside to take in the fresh air comingled with the aroma of the rich, calming coffee. A deep breath in and a long exhale out. For a moment, all the drama of the previous night seemed as unreal as a dream. I looked out over the light shimmering on the waves of the lake and felt as if everything was reborn that morning.

Just as I was taking it all in, feeling good about myself and my choice to join Lo and company up in this retreat, I heard the sliding door behind me open and, as I looked, there I saw Lilly, barefoot, in her panties and a tank-top, no bra, slip outside with me. She too was holding a mug of hot coffee.

“Can I join you?”

“Sure,” I said, concealing the pang of resentment I always feel when my morning solitude is interrupted, no matter by whom.

Lilly stood next to me and, for a brief moment, we both enjoyed the near silence of the breeze blowing the leaves, the birds singing their praise to the day, and the dance of the sun’s rays on the little waves. I could see her erect nipples reacting to the mountain morning air.

She broke the spell of the meditative moment by turning toward me and saying, “I don’t know what you’ve heard from Lola, but I want you to know that I never meant any harm.”

I had heard only small fragments at that point since my communication with Lo was so infrequent due to all the entertainment Collin was providing for her and Lilly.

“I don’t know much,” I said, but you can be sure that I was curious to know more. And, not only that, I wanted to hear it from Lilly’s lips so that I could later, in bed, compare it with Lo’s version. “Why don’t you tell me what I’ve missed.”

We sat on the lounge chairs and Lilly began from the beginning.

She recounted for me how Uncle Collin had always been for her almost a mythical figure. He was bold, daring, full of stories of his adventures, wealthy and generous, lavishing gifts on her and her family. Ever since she could remember, she adored him and looked at him with stars in her eyes.

She, so far as she could tell, was his favorite niece and he and Suzanne, having no children of their own, treated her as if she was his own daughter. He took her on vacations to France and Algeria, Italy and Spain. He spoiled her. He indulged her every whim with an amused satisfaction at the simplicity of her pleasures.

Just around the time she hit adolescence, he had his equestrian accident. She informed me about his injury and the damage it did to him. As she spoke, tears welled up in her eyes. After that, she recalled that Suzanne’s attitude toward her changed. She was cold. Aloof. She attended fewer and fewer family gatherings. She and Collin grew further and further apart.

She told me about going to Catholic school, wearing the school uniform and picking up on Uncle Collin’s subtle, yet perceptible interest in her girlfriends. In an offhand way, she mentioned that it was around this time, her freshmen year in high school, that she discovered the “A.O.L. alternative,” as she put it.

I played dumb, as if Lo hadn’t mentioned it to me. “A.O.L.?”

“Anal Only Lifestyle.”

“Is that a Catholic girl thing?”

“It was my thing. And, I guess, a lot of the girls I knew. But none of them took it as far or as frequently as I did.”

I wasn’t sure what she meant by that, but was curious to find out. I guess I raised my eyebrows, expressing my interest and so she continued, “I was into quick anal hookup.”

“What’s that mean?” I ventured. I knew from our previous private conversations that she enjoyed bragging and showing off her slutty side. Maybe there was some competitiveness she felt with Lo, but I was confident I wouldn’t have to pry this information from her.

“You know, just the one-night-stand thing. Or, later in high school, as my reputation spread, well. . .” she feigned being coy and blushing, “on a couple of occasions guys lined up outside in the backyard. We lived in a modified ranch and my bedroom was on the ground floor. I’d open the window, put my lubed butt out, and the guys would line up, one-by-one, for a chance at my ass.”

Sounded to me like her reputation wasn’t the only thing to spread.

“They wore condoms, I hope.”

She laughed.

“No?”

“We were in high school. They had like zero sexual experience. And. . .”

“And what?”

“I liked being filled up.” As she said this, she rolled over on her tum and added, “Oh, the sun’s just high enough to tan.” She clearly wanted me to look at her ass in those panties and imagine the backyard line-up.

She saw me eyeing her and said, “How did we get onto this topic?”

I had no idea at that point. I was much more interested in how she managed with what little Jim had to offer her by way of anal penetration. As I looked at her small ass in those even smaller panties, I thought that, despite her previous experience, it must not take much to fill her that way.

“Oh yeah, Uncle Collin’s accident,” she reminded me.

She then described how he appreciated having a house full of her friends, throwing house parties for them and, on occasion, spending the night with one or more of them. “That’s how it started,” she said. “It was all very innocent back then. I just wanted to cheer him up when he was going through the throes of depression and was wheelchair bound.”

“So, you’re saying that. . .” I was beginning to comprehend. She helped me.

“I knew Uncle Collin would love Lola. And I already knew you wouldn’t mind.”

That last little afterthought upset me. Maybe it was because normally I wouldn’t mind, but this time I did. Maybe it was something else.

“So it was a setup?” I asked.

“I would call it a little match-making.”

I must have had a dumbfounded look on my face, because then Lilly sat up and began explaining, rapid-fire, the pieces of the story that I also didn’t know: Uncle Collin’s erectile dysfunction; Suzanne’s sexual frustration; Lo’s resorting to masturbation to relieve her own pent-up desire for Collin. Much of what she had to say resolved some questions, but raised multiple more questions for me.

“How did you know that Collin was impotent?” I asked, picking a question at random from the array of choices in my mind.

“Let’s just say that I have my ways.”

I wondered what that meant, but didn’t dare ask. Nor did I need to. She willingly, almost eagerly told me all about the vacations in France, the nude beaches, the multiple attempts she made to get a rise out of her Uncle. His eventual confession when they were alone and sharing an intimate moment.

“I suppose, if I’m guilty of anything,” she said, “I’m guilty of leading on Lo into thinking that Uncle Collin could give her what she wanted. I knew he couldn’t, but I let her find out for herself. In that, I may have been wrong. But I didn’t feel like Uncle Collin’s story was mine to tell.”

She certainly had a warped conception of her role in this twisted, incestual scheme she and her uncle had going on. But, as a friend once said, don’t yuck my yum. I guess.

Just as she was getting to the acme of her story, the days the three of them spent at the clothing optional hotel, Suzanne walked outside, joining us.

“Good morning, Suzanne,” I said politely, feigning ignorance of her interaction with Lo the previous evening.

“How are you today, HH?” she asked, just as politely.

Ever notice how politeness and manners puts a distance between people? They are designed to assist civilization and society in running smoothly, but the means by which they do that is by preventing us from getting too close to one another and grinding our gears.

After the events of the night before, only some of which I was present for, this artificial social barrier between us was felt much more tangibly than it would have been otherwise.

As usual, Suzanne was wearing a suggestive, sheer robe over mere skimps of clothing and was accompanied by her ever-present pooches.

“Lilly, dear, why so covered up while sunning yourself?” asked Suzanne. “You wouldn’t want tan lines on that coveted ass of yours.”

“You’re right,” said Lilly, sitting up, taking a sip of her coffee, and slipping out of her tank top and panties. It was a good thing I had ejaculated last night in Lo, because, had I been as backed up as I was when I arrived, I might have revealed my arousal. As it was, all I wanted to do was escape back to Lo’s side (and then sneak inside her sweet spot).

Suzanne then sat across from the two of us, her hounds at her side, her legs crossed.

“Tell me HH,” she began, “I’m so curious. I know it’s none of my business, but what is your secret?”

I had no idea what she was talking about and I got the sense she phrased it exactly like that to keep me guessing.

“My secret?” I asked.

“I mean, with Lo.”

Still, very intentionally ambiguous.

“I’m not sure what you’re getting at,” I said nicely.

“Come on,” she insisted. “You know.”

She was really enjoying teasing me. Or perhaps hoping that I would inadvertently answer the wrong question, revealing something I shouldn’t.

“I’m sorry, Suzanne, I don’t follow.”

“You and she. You’re a December/May relationship. She’s in her very first bloom of May, in fact.”

“And I’m practically in January?”

“No, not at all. But how do you. . .” she searched for the right word, “manage.”

“Manage what?”

“Oh, no need to be shy. We’re all friends. Her dalliances. Her infidelities.”

I was thinking that I could ask her the same thing, but I then realized, she probably wanted me to.

“Lo does what Lo wants. If she’s happy, I’m happy.”

“You mean, Lo does whom Lo wants.”

“Either way,” I said.

“And you?” she asked.

“What about me?”

“You do whom you want as well?” she asked, looking over at the nude Lilly. I noticed that Lilly had put in her earbuds and was blissfully ignorant of our conversation. In any other situation, such behavior would have come across as rude, but in this instance, it was clear that Lilly was sending her aunt a message: “I don’t give a shit what you have to say.”

“Oh no,” I said. “I’m content with Lo.”

“You don’t ever have a longing for something else?”

It was a weird way to put it.

“Something?” I asked.

“You know, when all you’ve had is cheap wine, you might want to taste something of a more mature vintage,” she said, uncrossing and spreading her legs.

At just that moment, who should walk out the door but Lo, with a perfect view of Suzanne’s crotch in front of me and Lilly’s nude sunbathing to the left of me.

“Oh, am I interrupting something?” asked Lo. I heard it as, “You’re in BIG trouble, mister.” Entrapment! I am an innocent man! Yes I am. An innocent man.

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Just your average nymphomaniac next door. I love fan mail: downloladown@gmail.com

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